Severed
by the.subverter
Summary: Feeling disconnected from Liara and overwhelmed by the Reapers, Shepard turns to Specialist Traynor.
1. The Mistake

A/N: I assumed romances in ME3 would be like the romances of ME2. Ah, who can resist Traynor? Anyway, I went and talked to Liara right afterward and she said nothing. So I saved. Then later when I went to see her, I was bombarded. Whoops. Either way, Traynor was surprisingly neat and I ended up riding it out. Spoilers for ME3 obviously follow. Also, whatever, Liara 'heard' about it? Liara has a camera in Shep's cabin. I must say I really enjoyed watching Shepard fall apart. And why isn't there a Samantha Traynor character option yet? Sigh.

edit: Now with edits!

* * *

Shepard stares at the model cruisers above her desk. The Normandy is traveling late into the night. There's too much time to think but hardly time to act. Her body is tight and aching. Nightmares have refused her sleep.

She sits in front of the desk and wonders if she should still be numb. She has to shake this off. She massages her forehead and thinks of Liara. They've spent more time separated than together and they've taken up again. Shepard feels more distant from her than ever. Liara has changed or maybe she has. Maybe it's the stress of all of this. Relationships can't be a priority right now.

Her fingers brush the comm before she can stop herself. Liara keeps much the same hours as she does. Shepard is relieved when Liara's voice comes on the mic. She sounds distracted. "Shepard. It's late."

Shepard doesn't know if it's the feedback that makes Liara's voice lack warmth and sound further away than it should. It's nothing—just all of this. "Yeah." She considers telling her why she's awake but doesn't want to put another stressor on her. "I was hoping we could talk."

There's a moment of hesitation. "Sure. I have a few minutes." Shepard hears her tapping furiously on the keys. "No, Glyph, I want the Crucible data to be priority. This is important." She types away for another few moments. "What did you want to talk about?"

Does she need an excuse? Yes, probably. The work Liara is doing is important. Shepard isn't as useful off the field—they're lucky that Liara has access to the network that she does. Even if it means constant monitoring and affords them little time together. "I thought we could talk in person."

"Is something wrong? Well… besides the obvious."

Shepard frowns gently. "No. We don't really get to catch up anymore. You're so busy."

Liara chuckles. "And Commander Shepard has been sitting on her laurels, waiting for the Reapers to take us?"

"I guess we've all been busy. Can I come down? Is it a bad time?"

"I'd like that, Shepard. But now…." A pause. "Can't you decrypt that faster, Glyph? We don't have much time. How did the previous Shadow Broker deal with you?" Shepard can't make out Glyph's response. A few moments later she hears Liara again. "Sorry, Shepard. Now isn't a good time. Maybe later? Try to rest."

"Yeah… you too. Goodnight, Liara." Shepard disconnects. She pushes back in the desk chair and kicks off to perform a slow, lazy spin. If she thinks about it too much… it becomes too much.

No. She can't think that way. It's fine. It's fine. She's the lucky one. She isn't on Earth while it burns. Should she have listened to Anderson? She should be fighting beside him. It isn't fair. There are too many innocent dead. There will be many more. She closes her eyes.

If she were in Purgatory she could get a drink. Maybe next time they hit the Citadel she'll pick up a few bottles. Guilt at any opportunity of indulging ebbs at her. She stands and paces.

Ashley is a bloody mess in the hospital. Earth and Palavan are being overwhelmed. People are losing their homes and lives by the billions. She stares at her models and thinks of the little boy on Earth, vaporized by the Reaper. Should she have tried harder to get him out of the duct space? Should she have pursued him? She should have saved him. She didn't. Now he haunts her.

"Shake it off, Shepard," she mutters. She's a soldier. She knows loss. She's been the sole survivor twice now. She'll be damned if it happens again.

Shepard has too much energy, too many thoughts—but she still feels like a husk. Would James be up for another bout? What about Garrus? Uneasiness won't leave her. Crying won't help anything so she doesn't. She goes to bed. She doesn't sleep.

* * *

The pulsing heavy tones of Purgatory are jarring. It's too loud to think. Shepard looks around the club. Men and women flirt and dance, drink, talk too loudly. She'd come to speak with Aria but has finished earlier than she anticipated. Aria doesn't mince words. Shepard quickly finds herself at a loss of what to do on her down time. Does she have down time? Is she allowed? They're docked for hours. The others are at the Presidium Commons or the embassies.

She should enjoy natural sunlight while she can but this artificial darkness is more honest. Shepard climbs the steps to the second floor. Everyone's faces blur into each others'. Colorful lights flicker and bounce, shine into her face, blinding. An asari tries to get her attention but Shepard ducks her head and moves to the bar. She should have brought Liara but Liara spends enough time in a dark room with too many monitors. Shepard won't take any chance at peace and quiet from her.

Shepard thinks to the reports read only hours earlier. The loss of life throughout the galaxy is staggering. Why is everyone counting on her? She's only one person. She doesn't want any more lives riding on her decisions. She doesn't want to think about it. She orders a drink and downs it in one go.

She nods her head to the music and half-listens to the conversations around her. Why is she here? She should be working. The Reapers won't wait to wipe them out of existence. Purgatory is warm, the heat of bodies pressed together and dancing making it hotter still. She rubs her forehead and hears the screams and shouts of the people in Vancouver: the ones left behind.

She orders another drink. "Already?" The bartender asks. "You're going to give that other human a run for her money," he says with a cock of his head to a woman dancing against the wall.

Shepard smiles weakly. "I'm on shore leave," she explains. _I'm Commander Shepard and that was my least convincing lie to date._ She tosses the drink back and slams the glass into the bar. Her cheeks flush.

"Sounds like a challenge. Hey, aren't you Commander Shepard? Shouldn't you be saving the galaxy or something?" He does a turian version of a grin. Shepard grimaces. "Drinks are on the house!" he pours her another and another and another.

Shepard drinks every one.

She dances. With people. With several people. With no one. So what if she can't dance? It doesn't matter anymore. She can have this. She can have a few hours. The noise and alcohol can drown all the thoughts of what she has to do away, of everything that she's seen. Will she always have to watch everyone die around her? _The Reapers are still out there and you're dancing and drinking? What's wrong with you?_

She orders another drink.

The room spins. She stumbles. It's too hot. Someone tells her to drink water.

She has another drink.

She doesn't know how she gets on Aria's couch. She had been upstairs. "I'm surprised you didn't crack your head open," Aria tells her. "You should probably thank that associate of yours; the mountain of muscle? If you don't mind, I'd like the couch back."

Shepard staggers to her feet. Her head pounds. What time is it? How long has she been here? She's wasting time. She somehow makes it back to the Normandy. She hears the whispers of the Normandy crew and sees the worry in their faces. What the fuck is she thinking coming onboard like this? How is she to lead by example when they can see their captain hammered? She can't let them see what this is doing to her.

She quickly makes her way to the elevators but is intercepted by Specialist Traynor. Shepard jabs at the button to her cabin and avoids eye contact but Traynor persists. "Commander—I've been going through the comm channels and found a few things that—"

"Can this wait?" Shepard stares at the elevator buttons. She sways, a hand to the wall and tries to look natural. Her legs want to buckle from under her.

"Not too much longer…" Traynor cocks her head to look at her. Shepard avoids her gaze. She's acting like a weakling and disappointed in herself. Traynor hesitates. "Commander… are you all right?"

Shepard takes a deep breath. It's a feat that she doesn't vomit. "Yeah." She looks at Traynor. Shepard doesn't know the woman very well. She barely remembers her first name. Amanda? No. Samantha. Samantha Traynor. Her face is etched in concern. Shepard forces a smile that she hopes isn't strained. "Give me a few minutes to shower and we can look over this."

"Shower…?" her eyes glaze over happily before she's all business again. Shepard doesn't see how anyone can get starry eyed over a shower. "Yes, Commander. If you'd like I can forward them to your message terminal instead? But… it could save you time if we could go over them together. I could answer any questions you might have."

"That's fine. Just. Just give me a few." The elevator doors open and Shepard steps inside. Traynor holds on to her data pad watching Shepard with concern before seeming to realize and straightening to attention with a salute. "At ease."

Shepard wonders if Liara is back from visiting in the Citadel. Not that she has time to see her right now. Looking over comm logs with Traynor. Great. She just has to hold it together for a bit longer. A lot longer. She needs a shower and some sleep. She needs a pill to make her headache go away. She needs to throw up. She needs to stop the Reapers.

* * *

Head bowed, she stands clothed in the shower. Water runs down her face and arms, soaking through her uniform. She shouldn't have stepped in here. She can't make herself move. She can't leave. When did she become so weak?

Everything is fracturing.

The water is warm but Shepard is frozen. Traynor is naked and glistening before her but it's her face, open and earnest that steals Shepard's breath away. Traynor takes Shepard's face in her hands. This isn't right. They're supposed to play chess. Traynor asks if she's all right. Shepard wants to push her away but she doesn't. "I'm fine."

Traynor's lips light over hers, a grazing. Shepard can't remember when she last felt warm. When she last felt close to anybody. She trembles. She wraps her arms around her. She kisses her back.

Shepard wants the crushing weight of it all to go away. She guides Traynor to the wall. It isn't right. Water runs down their faces, their lips. Traynor's mouth tastes like salvation.

There's no excuse except that it's the end of the world.

* * *

Traynor's asleep beside her. Shepard touches Traynor's arm. Everything she does she does without meaning to. Traynor shifts, opens her eyes and smiles up at her. Shepard says nothing, undecided if this is a dream or a nightmare.

Traynor lifts a hand to Shepard's face, to her brow, to the frown there. "You okay?" Does Traynor know about Liara? Is she an innocent victim in Shepard's indiscretions? Her voice goes soft and uncertain. She smiles bashfully but doesn't meet Shepard's eyes. "Is it time for me to go?" She sits up and pushes the blankets away without waiting for a response.

Shepard grabs her arm. "No. Stay. Sleep."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I need to take care of some things. But someone should rest." There's no use in telling her about nightmares or the guilt. Traynor may be an accessory to her infidelity but she's an innocent party. Shepard should never have brought her into this. How does she make this right? Can she make this right? She has to tell Liara. Maybe they can work it out. This was only fun for Traynor. Wasn't it?

The heavy weight of the world returns now that it's over. Shepard's chest is tight again. She goes to stand. Traynor touches her arm. Shepard hesitates, her back to her. "Hey, Commander? Don't work too hard. You don't want to burn out."

"You're just worried about not getting to use my shower." Shepard doesn't know whether she's joking.

"I wouldn't be if the sinks weren't so terrible. I think you've been spoiled by the burden of so much responsibility. Us lesser mortals have sillier things to worry about." She touches Shepard's back. "Some of us… have been worried about you."

Shepard stands quickly, desperate to escape any contact before she rushes back to it. She glances back at Traynor and makes herself smile. "It's fine. I'm fine." How often has she said that in the past few days? "Sorry if I get a little grumpy. There's no need to worry. You should rest," she dresses, throwing her hoody on and exiting the cabin. She takes the elevator down to the crew quarters and goes to Liara's office door. She remembers when the space used to be her cabin, when it was Miranda's. Now it's Liara's. Everything changes; everything stays the same.

She searches for courage. She's facing the Reapers and the end of the world but can't force herself into action. She has to tell her. She looks at the time on the wall. It's 3:43am. Should she do this now? Should she wake Liara? And if she is awake, should she deny her a few hours of rest?

Shepard bites her lip. No. She'll tell her later. She'll talk to them both and fix it. She shouldn't disturb Liara. They've barely had any opportunity to speak since meeting again anyway. She frowns. She will not put this on Liara. She's a grown woman and responsible for her decisions. Even if she doesn't like the results.

She won't tell Liara yet. She'll be considerate. _Bullshit, you coward._ She leaves her door but doesn't return to her cabin. She goes to engineering where Jack used to stay. Where is Jack…? Is she still alive? Shepard hopes so. She sits on the floor, reclined against the wall.

Is there any hope left? Yes. She has to believe it. For herself, for Liara, for the galaxy. She can't fail.

* * *

Liara's tone and words cut deeper than any knife ever has. Each word is a bullet that lodges deep. Shepard momentarily forgets how to breathe, how to speak.

She knows. She heard. How could she have heard about it…? She's told no one. Has Traynor…? It doesn't matter. It's true. She did it. Liara stares heatedly into the monitor before her. Glyph zooms around the room slowly, spinning and hovering. "Liara. Please." She can only whisper.

"No."

"I was going to tell you."

"But you didn't."

She had been. She came to tell her. She should have told her the first night. Will Liara believe her? Will Liara ever trust her again? "I've felt so far removed from you…"

"So it's my fault that you did what you did?"

"No. There's no excuse." Shepard goes to her. Liara dodges the contact Shepard attempts. Shepard can't get a handle on her emotions, her thoughts. She wants to say the right thing. She has to say the right thing. "I was wrong. _I'm sorry._ You're important to me. We're important to me. Please just talk to me." _I can't do this on my own. I can't do this with you against me._ "We can make it through this. It will just be another obstacle, no bigger than all the years between us." They were without each other for two years. Was Liara faithful during that absence? Had there been others? They haven't so much as held hands since reuniting. So little contact… so little talk… so little connection, no joining of minds like years ago. How is that…? "I can't lose this, too."

Liara's jaw is clenched hard. There are tears in her eyes that she blinks away. When she looks at her again, eyes ruthless and clinical Shepard only sees the Shadow Broker. "Then you shouldn't have thrown it away." She coolly returns to the computer monitor and begins to work. "I'm busy, Shepard. You know the way out."

* * *

Shepard's still in a fog. She isn't sure if it's because of all the destruction being waged across the galaxy, Liara dumping her, or the hangover. She browses her terminal. There is still so much work to be done. Will the krogan and the turians ever work together? What about the Council? Will they support her…? Will she do enough? Can she do what she has to? They have to win this.

Shepard makes the mistake of glancing in Traynor's direction. She's looking at her. Shepard hasn't had time to say more than a few words to her in the past few days. "Hi," she says. It would be rude to say nothing at all. Shepard doesn't know how to act around her, how to treat her.

"Commander," Traynor nods.

Shepard smiles weakly and looks away. There is text on the monitor in front of her but Shepard can't make sense of any of the words. Her thoughts are jumbled. A new window pops open on her screen. Shepard blinks.

 _I'm SO embarrassed. I know you're standing five feet away from me but I can't talk about what I want to talk about here. I know you're busy and I know you have important things going on but… would it be okay if we spent more time together? Whenever you may have a moment. Does it sound terrible if I said I really enjoy spending time with you? Maybe you should take that as a compliment! …And I'm blushing now._

Shepard looks at Traynor who is fixated on her screen with an intensity that borders on amusing. What is she supposed to say to her? She doesn't know. Shepard looks back at her screen, undecided. Another message pops up.

 _Fun fact: If you were any closer, I think the heat of my face would do more destructive damage than any Reaper beam. Is that in bad taste? Sorry… I'm rambling in type. This is awful._

Shepard types slowly. Everything she writes she erases. None of it makes any sense. She doesn't know what to say. Traynor confuses her. Shepard slept with her. It was... guilt burns Shepard. More than any physical pleasure, Specialist Samantha Traynor is sharp as a whip and has provided good intelligence. Where would they be without her? She's funny. Shepard would be lying to herself if she said the woman wasn't attractive, wasn't nice to spend time with. But it's _wrong._ Isn't it?

Another window opens. _Last one: I promise. Mayyyyyyyyybe it was only… you know… to you. It's fine if that's what you want… but I was hoping for more. At least five more showers before you kick me to the curb. That was a joke. These things are so hard to make out in type, aren't they? Anyway… did I tell you? Liara gave me a look so deadly the other day, I nearly pissed myself. She usually looks so sweet—isn't she pretty? Anyway, I'll admire her from afar. I'll happily remain at my station and not smeared on the walls, thank you. Think I could afford the fee of hiring you as a bodyguard? Maybe you should up my pay grade._

Shepard smiles wryly. She types: _If you end up smeared on the walls, you can blame me. Let's talk. But not over this. Bring a weapon. You might need it by the time I'm done._

Traynor responds immediately: _Is this something kinky, Commander? Don't worry, I'll erase this backlog immediately. I'm not closing the door on that weapon thing, by the way. I think I may have a club hidden somewhere, if you know what I mean._

Shepard is still staring at the monitor when another message pops up.

 _Not there! If that's what you were thinking. Oh, God. Why would you think that? Why would_ _ **I**_ _think that? I'm not perverse, I swear. The shower thing—not my usual style, though I'm thinking I could add them to my repertoire, though only if a certain Commander was involved._

Shepard is readying to compose a message when Traynor walks to her, perhaps becoming as aggravated as Shepard by their non-conversation conversation. "A new message has just come through. Admiral Hackett would like to speak to you in the comm room," she tells her, all playfulness gone from her face. Shepard has noticed how her voice changes when news reports come in, when Hackett wants to speak to her. When Shepard goes out on a mission.

"Patch it through."

Shepard would normally be happy for a distraction. If Hackett wants to talk… It's likely more bad news. What normal is there anymore? The days of normality are swiftly coming to an end. Uncertainty and despair are the new normal.

* * *

"I can't…exactly blame her for dumping you. You're not as true blue as she is," Traynor says. "No pun intended," more quietly under her breath. Shepard watches Traynor walk the length of the cabin before taking a seat on the couch opposite of her. "Be honest with me—is this something that you do? Cheat on people?"

"No." Shepard shakes her head. She traces the rim of the lowball glass of whisky in front of her. "Never."

"I don't play games. Well… not on non-game nights."

"I messed up." Shepard picks up the glass, lifts it to her lips. The fragrance of hard alcohol floods Shepard's senses. She craves the liquid but doesn't drink. She can control herself. She used to know how.

"This was all a mistake to you? I was a mistake to you?" she laughs softly. "Maybe I was. All things considered." Her fingers graze her face, as if rubbing a tender spot that Shepard has slapped.

"It _was_ wrong. You didn't know. Neither did Liara. _I'm_ the one who screwed up. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry if…if I made it seem…" Shepard is grateful that Traynor is allowing her to explain even if what she has to offer is small and insignificant, nothing worth redeeming her. Liara still won't talk to her. Things have been awkward.

"You've been under a lot of stress. Everyone makes mistakes. Even Commander Shepard." Traynor says. Shepard feels no better for the words. "It _wasn't_ right. No question. All things considered, I'm glad I haven't been flayed alive with biotics. But…why did you do it?" she stands again.

 _Because you sought me out. Because you needed me. Because I needed someone._ All true. Shepard doesn't dare to say any of it. Having this conversation with Traynor feels like another betrayal to Liara. "I don't know," Shepard mutters.

"I'm not exactly sure why I'm here." She looks at her. "I'm not interested in being a bed warmer. Not without all the other perks, anyway. I like you a lot, Commander… but not enough to be satisfied with that."

"I've got _a lot_ on my mind, Samantha."

" _I know._ I don't know how you do it. Are you sure you're not part machine?"

"That's not funny."

"Sorry. I guess it isn't."

Shepard gets to her feet. She brings the drink to her lips but doesn't drink. Traynor's eyes are on her though Shepard doesn't know her well enough to read into the gaze. Shepard rubs her eyes, feeling the stabs of a new headache needle into her head. "I'm sorry I pulled you into this. I was selfish."

"Not all of the pulling was bad. Look… you've obviously beaten yourself up over this. Not that I wouldn't want to do some beating of my own if I were in her place but… If Liara doesn't want to try again with you… that's her loss and my gain. Maybe you're not the greatest gain right now… but all those little things add up to something bigger. It might take time. But luckily for you, I can be patient… if…if you're willing."

Shepard watches the fish in the aquarium swim lazily. "I like you, Samantha. I do. More than I… all of this is… surprising. But I don't know. I'm lost." She isn't sure if she vocalizes the last.

"As luck would have it, I'm pretty good at navigating." She steps closer, talking low and soft. "Get your head on straight. You have something so much more important than any of this to deal with." Traynor pulls the glass away from Shepard and sets it down on the coffee table by the bed. She looks at her. "Do you sleep, Commander?"

"I'm fine."

"How many times do you have to say that before it becomes any more true? Seriously, we've all started a pool and I'd really like that brush."

"Another joke?"

"Yeah…" Traynor avoids her eyes.

Is it true…? Shame courses through Shepard. She stands taller, eyes narrowed. "We will defeat the Reapers. I know we're all tired. I know you're probably scared," she continues. Traynor remains looking away from her, eyebrows gently furrowed, "but don't be. We can do this. We _will_ do this."

"I know."

"You've helped more than you know. It's not just being on the battlefield that's important."

"Specialist Traynor: master decryptor and chess champion. Reapers: Fear Me." She smiles and goes to the cabin door, looking back at her. "Commander… you're lucky I don't always follow orders." Shepard cocks an eyebrow. "If I'd brought that club, I would have used it."

"Beneath all that quirkiness you're kind of terrifying, aren't you?"

"Maybe one day you'll see me cook. You'll know real terror, then." She lingers at the doorway. "You didn't have to tell me about Liara. You did. That means something to me—even if it means nothing to you. If you ever need to talk… if you need a _friend_ or… to get your ass handed to you at chess… I'm here."

Shepard nods. Traynor leaves. Shepard misses her the instant she goes. Traynor was a mistake. Why doesn't she feel like one? Is she losing her mind?


	2. Bravado

A/N: Ah, notes? Thanks for the reviews, sweet ones. They're encouraging. I'll tag Liara on this since she's sort of in it- maybe more so next chapter? And there's still no way to tag Traynor. This was supposed to be a one shot. I cut out a lot of EDI jokes. Maybe from Traynor's POV in the next chapter? What do people think? I need to go pass out now.

* * *

"Commander!"

Shepard blinks. A quizzical Traynor stands before her. Shepard's unsure of how long she's been sitting on the Purgatory couch that's pocketed in darkness. Traynor holds a colorful neon drink, a bright pink straw jutting cheerfully from it.

"I don't mean to shout! But it is rather loud in here, isn't it? Can I sit down?" Traynor asks. When Shepard doesn't answer Traynor cups a hand around her mouth to ask again. Shepard scoots over and Traynor sits. "I think my eardrums are bleeding," she tells Shepard jovially, her voice still raised.

"Join the club."

"What?" Traynor shouts.

Shepard hadn't been counting on company, certainly not Traynor's. Shepard hadn't thought Traynor ever left the Normandy—though she's glad to see her outside of CIC. Shepard's stomach is a bundle of nerves—if Liara comes into Purgatory… Liara is finished with her. Does it matter if she sees them together? "It's loud," Shepard says.

Traynor nods and takes a drink. "Are you much for dancing?" she asks, searching the crowds and the small group of people that dance several feet from them. Shepard shakes her head. "That's too bad," she says disappointed, "but I think I'm going to have a go of it myself. I don't much get to show off at CIC, unless you count my mastery of quantum entanglements. But people my generation don't tend to be as wowed by that." She looks pitiful a moment before rising. "Watch my drink, will you? I'm cute, young and impressionable." She gives Shepard a coquettish, bashful smile and weaves into the crowd.

Shepard reclines against the couch. The throbbing in her head pulses with the beat of the music. The tenacious headache isn't helped by the volume of the music, yet Shepard can't make herself leave. It's easier to disappear in Purgatory. No one gives a damn about her here—all that matters is the beat, the drinks, the dancing.

Shepard doesn't watch the drink. She watches her. Traynor dances enthusiastically despite her movements lacking the refined sensuality of some of the asari or other more experienced dancers. Her face is a light in the darkness, not just strained desperation masked as joy. Traynor catches her watching and smiles. Shepard is momentarily at a loss.

Traynor's attention is soon captured by a salarian and an asari. Traynor's attentions are ensnared more so by the asari—though the casual observer wouldn't know it; she still laughs and leans forward, talking to the salarian. Shepard doesn't know what they talk about but the asari draws Traynor away.

Shepard sits awkwardly, unsure if the expectation is that she continue to watch the drink. A few minutes pass and Traynor returns, eyebrows arched incredulously. She drops beside Shepard. Her hair is disarrayed but that might have been the dancing. Shepard experiences a pang of jealousy. "Have fun?" she asks.

Traynor laughs awkwardly. "It takes me longer than that to have fun. Remember how I mentioned being cute, young and impressionable? I don't think I have the proper erm—prerequisites to have taken her up on her offer. I'm barely a zygote to her."

Shepard tilts her head, looking her over. "Are you blushing?"

"Don't tease me!" she slaps Shepard's leg playfully and picks up her drink, taking a sip. She looks at Shepard, adorably vexed. "Did you come here to hide? I went and ruined your plans, didn't I? I don't usually come to places like this," she mentions, "as I said, I used to spend most of my time in labs."

"I've spent some time in labs myself." Two years, to be exact. Traynor looks at her, questioning before the puzzled curiosity dissipates. "It's good that you left."

"It's better for us that _you_ did." She finishes her drink and sets it on the table in front of them. "Have you… are things okay with you and…" she sweeps the room with her eyes. She looks at Shepard with another question before a couple falls to the couch beside them. The man and woman, Alliance soldiers, either don't know they're there or don't care. They maul each other on the couch, hands everywhere.

" _Wow."_ Traynor whispers to Shepard. "Do you suppose they're madly in love? We're in public…!" she says the last as if Shepard might not know.

"They're scared," Shepard says with a gentle frown. "The news networks aren't airing much but enough is getting out. You don't have to see much of the Reapers to know that it doesn't look good." Shepard could do without seeing them as often. Even in her sleep she can't get away from them.

" _Speaking of,_ " Traynor begins, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, or with mild irritation, "what exactly does Diana Allers do? Have you seen her room? It's bloody amazing. I have to share a room with fifteen other crew and they _snore._ In the labs I at least got my own place. Not that I'm complaining," she adds quickly. _"Anyway,_ I don't really know why she's onboard is all. Her reporting could use some work."

"Aren't you being a little harsh, Traynor?" Shepard asks. Traynor pouts. "Her reports may not be top notch like yours or Liara's but they get the job done. The galaxy needs to see what's happening."

"Maybe they should look out the window. I think she came to spy on you—not that I blame her; you're pretty cute. I know you're a bit of a paragon but…" Traynor stops, shakes her head. Shepard waits. "I _was_ going to say 'be careful' but given that you're the greatest soldier in the history of the galaxy—"

"That's not true," Shepard doesn't know why the words send her into a panic.

"And did I mention our only hope for salvation…?" She cuts her words off, looking at Shepard's face. She sucks on the straw of her previously discarded drink, rewarded only by hollow air noise, the drink already depleted. "Would it be terribly inappropriate if I asked my commanding officer to buy me a drink? And before you shoot me down, Vega already told me you bought him and some other Alliance soldiers a round."

"Vega thinks I have an unlimited credit account. I think you and I are past the point of appropriateness, Traynor."

Traynor pauses, lips parted with an unspoken question. Then she laughs. "Sorry, I couldn't hear you over all that backpedaling! Hey," Traynor stands. Her fingertips graze Shepard's wrist. "No pressure. Sometimes a drink is just a drink," she takes out a handful of credit chits, "it was wrong of me to ask… Given everything. Don't worry, Commander. This one's on me."

She's gone before she can protest. Shepard waits for her return but Traynor doesn't come back.

* * *

The end-result is that nearly all of Liara's theories about the Protheans were wrong. Javik dispenses his hard facts callously. Liara flinches every time another theory is undone. Javik is unmoved by her curiosity and unimpressed by any suggestion she might have. Liara seethes.

Javik walks past them both, unaware or uncaring of any tension within the group. "I've had enough of being around what's between the two of you," he says with more consternation than usual. He exits Liara's room, unmoved by another theory Liara thought might have helped in the building of the Crucible. Liara is crestfallen and angry.

"It's going to be okay," Shepard says.

"Sure it is. No thanks to him. The last of his kind… I wonder if they were all so charming." Liara says dryly. Shepard is still unused to her recently discovered sarcasm. Liara's turned to the computer console in front of her, ignoring Glyph who spews reports and questions at her. "Regardless, we have enough that the Crucible will be built. I just hope there's enough time. Was there something more, Shepard?"

Shepard holds her helmet at her side. Once again she's searching for words. It's been weeks since Liara found out. Has it been months? It has, somehow. Time is racing past them. The Reapers have advanced to terrifying levels. No one is unaffected. "Are you going to ignore me forever?" Liara turns to look at her. "I know you're angry."

"I am not." She shuffles and brings her fingers to her forehead, as if terribly bothered by Shepard's presence. "I was. But no more. It's finished, Shepard. I can't dwell on any heartbreak I may feel. It's been over two years since we were together and even then…" she shakes her head. "it wasn't for very long, was it? It was only… a small part of our lives."

Shepard frowns. A small part of their lives? Does Liara really feel that way? What about all the promises…? Shepard bites her tongue to keep from asking. She's the one who ruined it. "Why would you say that?"

"It's true. We were under so much stress. It's natural that we would seek to comfort each other. Perhaps it's the only reason. That's why years pass and we don't speak."

"I didn't contact you because I was dead. What was your excuse?" Shepard struggles to keep her voice steady. Liara looks at her sharply. Then she looks away, ashamed. "I know I hurt you. Maybe you'll never forgive me; maybe we'll never get past this. But I'd like to try."

"We won't get past this." Liara says matter-of-factly. Shepard's legs are weak. "I wouldn't like to try. Maybe I've been harder on you than I should have been. Maybe I've been distant… but I can't sacrifice what I'm doing for you. It's too important."

"We can't just forget everything that makes life matter. Everything that makes life worth living." She goes to her, looks at her but Liara won't face her. Shepard takes her arm. Liara keeps her head bowed. Shepard drops her helmet and takes Liara's shoulders, moving her. "Can't you even look at me? After all of this, don't I deserve at least that?"

Liara lifts her face to look at Shepard. There are tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Shepard. I know I haven't been perfect. All of this _hurts._ I can't forgive you. It's over between us. Let me work. Please, just let me focus on this so I don't have to think of anything else." Shepard's fingers dig brutally into Liara's arms. The air is trapped in her lungs. There's a long silence. Liara smiles sadly. "Samantha seems like a very sweet woman."

Shepard lets Liara go. She picks up her helmet from the floor and leaves before desperation takes control of her.

* * *

She dreams of scorched trees, branches stretched out like gnarled fingers, framing her like wisps of oily smoke. The forest is dead. Brown leaves decay in the hot, stale breeze. Yet everything is cold and void.

There are whispers. Darkness reigns. The only light is the fire that rains from the night sky. The boy is here. She can save him. If she can get to him. There's laughter. Is he okay…?

 _You can't help me._

No. She's nearly there. He's just out of reach. A light, razor sharp, red as blood cuts through the night, cuts through the forest shearing the night in half. She shields her eyes and the reaper is gone. The boy is here now, looking at her, burning. Burning. He's so young… She's failed.

Shepard gasps to a sitting. She looks around the cabin wildly. Her heart beats frantically. She's drenched in a cold sweat. Her head hurts. She clenches her fingers over her heart, alarmed at how the organ violently hammers at her chest. She squeezes her eyes shut but opens them just as quickly. She doesn't feel safe closing her eyes.

Will these nightmares ever go away?

* * *

Shepard's secluded herself in the lounge. Mordin's dead. The rare, small victories are tainted by loss and her failure. She should have done more. It's unfair that so much should ride on her judgment. She is only a soldier. Why doesn't anyone see that? She's had successes but she's had her share of failures. Everyone looks to her now when failure isn't an option.

The lounge door hisses open. Shepard jumps to her feet. She takes long, silent breaths and tries to breathe normally.

"Commander?"

It's Traynor. It's late. Why is she here? "Still chasing after that drink?" Her voice sounds wispy and she clears it.

"Chasing after a good night's rest is more like it. Remember that thing I said about sharing a room with fifteen other soldiers? They haven't caught savvy to my trick—I sneak in here late at night if I can. The couches are comfortable enough. You on the other hand… What are you doing here?" Shepard gives a small shake of her head. "Can't sleep?" Traynor asks quietly. "I'm sorry about Mordin. He was brilliant. And a good man."

"Yeah."

Traynor stands beside her. Shepard can see a folded blanket and regulation pillow in her arms. Atop of it, a book, a novelization of Fleet and Flotilla. Traynor gazes at the stars. "There's so much out there. And the Reapers are still decimating us. I thought it couldn't get any worse than the Collectors on Horizon," she says shakily.

"It will get better."

"You're bleeding." Shepard doesn't know what she's talking about. Traynor gets on her knees and sticks an arm beneath one of the couches, "Given the history of this ship you can never be too prepared. When retrofitting it I thought it might be wise to add some extra medical kits in every room—in case of emergency. I wouldn't say this is one but it doesn't mean it can't be used. Sit."

Shepard doesn't, watching Traynor open the medical kit and pull out bandaging and medigel. Moments later, a gentle hand guides Shepard to a sitting. Shepard's in a daze. "Late night first aid—another thing I never used to do in the labs."

"Are you sorry you got trapped onboard the Normandy?"

"I'm not _trapped,_ Commander. Not anymore, anyway. If it were desperate, I could get off at the Citadel. The way I figure, this is the safest place to be with all that's going on. Doesn't mean I'm not worried about my parents or feeling guilty."

"Guilty?"

"I'm alive." She bites her lip. "I'm lucky not to be in London anymore," she says, eyebrows dipping gently. "And Mum and Dad are too. I haven't heard from them in a long time. Do you have family?"

"They died on Mindoir, long ago." At least they were spared seeing everything that's happening. Shepard doesn't know if that should be a comfort.

"I'm sorry."

"If you ever want to go—"

Traynor looks up at her. "Do you want me to?"

EDI comes on over the intercom. "I would highly discourage that line of thought, Shepard. Samantha continues to be an asset to the Normandy. Furthermore, a scan of emails reveals that several crew members would be disappointed by her absence. She raises morale, much like I raise Jeff's."

"Goody," Traynor's face flushes. "You read emails…?"

EDI is wisely silent.

Shepard finds a small smile. "I wouldn't dream of asking her to leave, EDI."

"Jeff has confessed worry about the tension between you, Liara and Samantha."

"That's enough, EDI," Shepard says warily, mortified at where the conversation has gone. EDI's new humanity is endearing to behold but the abundance of awkward moments she provides can't be understated. "Everything's been resolved so… let's not talk about it."

"Understood, Shepard. I may press you with more questions later. Is the temperature in the lounge to your satisfaction, Samantha? My scan reveals a higher than normal body temperature."

"It's fine, EDI," Traynor says under her breath, her cheeks darkening further still. "Thank you. Goodnight." Shepard laughs uncomfortably. "Now that I'm properly humiliated… maybe I can take care of that cut." Traynor presses the disinfectant to Shepard's neck before she can respond. Shepard inhales sharply, not having known it was there. "You need to start getting regular check ups when you come in off the field," she goes on, gingerly dabbing at the cut before applying the medigel. Shepard feels her skin pulling together.

"You opposed to scars, Traynor?"

"I'll put it this way—Krogan women aren't the only ones who think they're sexy," she says. Shepard can't see her face, it's nearly nestled in her neck, setting the bandage into place. Shepard holds still, grateful if Traynor misses the heating of her cheeks. "Anyway, if our illustrious leader doesn't get proper medical care, the other soldiers will think they're unstoppable too."

Shepard sighs softly. "Is that what you think?"

"Sure. You've stopped Saren and Sovereign. You stopped the Collectors—and saved my life and that of others many times over." She puts the items back in the first aid kit and tucks it back under the couch. "I'm convinced you can do anything." She looks at her worriedly. "You don't think we can win this?"

Shepard looks at her. Traynor kneels on the floor, eyes wide, carefully concealing any fear. Shepard swears inwardly. She's been moping while others have been strong. If she doesn't put on a strong face they'll all resign themselves to destruction. "I know we will. It may not seem that way now but..."

Samantha looks away, her face a tapestry of concern. "Can any person survive being this scared for so long?

"There are plenty of things out there trying to kill us already. Fear is one of the ones we can control. This war will be won. We will lose some things but we won't lose everything."

"Can you promise that?"

"Yes." Her word sounds like a husk. She hopes her determined face is more convincing. Traynor sits beside her on the couch, next to the sheet and pillow she's brought. Shepard looks at the sad bundle and the even sadder Traynor. She covers Traynor's hand with hers. "It's all right to be scared. You'd be crazy if you weren't. Just don't let it consume you, no matter how hard it gets." Shepard squeezes her hand gently. "You can't forget the reasons worth living. Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay." Traynor nods again. She looks at Shepard's hand, covering her own. "Thanks, Commander. I won't get down like that again. I'll keep it together."

"Good. Everyone's counting on us." She removes her hand from Traynor's and picks up the folded blanket, settling it over Traynor's lap. "I should let you rest." She says. "Thanks for the talk."

"Can't you stay a while longer?" Traynor delicately spreads the blanket over Shepard's legs. "We don't have to do anything. We don't even have to talk. But company would be nice… if that's okay." She lifts the heavy text. "We can read selections from Fleet and Flotilla. I'm to the part where this adorable turian is trying so hard to get the attention of a quarian commander."

Shepard could throw the blanket off and leave. She's heard of Fleet and Flotilla but hasn't watched the vid yet. Traynor talks about the story as if it were juicy gossip. Shepard plays along. "How's the turian doing?"

"Not as well as he'd like." She smiles and starts reading. Shepard wraps an arm around the back of the couch, listening to Traynor's soft English accent, lulled by it; Samantha is easy to listen to. Shepard isn't sure when her hand falls over Traynor's shoulder to slide down her arm. Shepard can't stay awake. She isn't sure which one of them falls asleep first.

The book slipping from Traynor's hand and slamming to the floor wakes Shepard. Traynor is asleep against her, breathing softly. Shepard strokes her hair gingerly. She brushes a kiss against her forehead. A spark of hope ignites.

* * *

"Sounds like you have a crush on Jack, Specialist Traynor."

Traynor smiles. "Can you blame me?"

"I thought you had a crush on _me_ ," Shepard said under her breath, the words only for Traynor. Shepard walks alongside of her as the specialist makes her way out of the War Room. "What about her does it for you? Is it the biotics or the bad attitude? Maybe you're into tattoos."

"Or it could be her good looks. It could be a little of everything," Traynor flicks through her data pad as she walks, "your mission report is _so_ detailed. It's like I'm right there, with you, except for all of the danger and bullets flying through the air. She hit you, right in the face?" She stops, stares into Shepard's face. Private Campbell and Private Westmoreland exchange glances and turn to the two women. Shepard and Traynor look away from one another. Traynor keeps walking. "You should be more careful."

"I'm supposed to know my allies are going to be taking swings at me? Hell, it's a good thing you found out what was going down at Grissom. Who knows what might have happened if you hadn't?"

"I can take a few guesses, none ending with 'and they lived happily ever after'. I bloody hate Cerberus. Glad they brought you back, though." She steps into the elevator. Shepard follows. The doors slide shut. "Look at that bruise," Traynor laments, fingers feathering along Shepard's jaw. Shepard takes her hand and finds her mouth.

Their fingers twine. Traynor lights a hand on Shepard's chest. A moment later her hand slides behind Shepard's neck, delves into her hair, drawing her down, kissing her hot and deep. They'd kissed again for the first time days ago, their lips barely touching, both of them shaking with nerves. Then EDI announced that Admiral Hackett wanted to talk to Shepard on vidcomm. They've barely had a chance to speak or see one another since.

A current of excitement courses through Shepard at the pressure of Traynor's soft lips against hers. Not all of the guilt over Liara has abated but it is waning. It is bearable. It is not enough for her to keep rejecting Traynor or keep her at arm's length. The specialist has proven difficult to resist.

"You need to go to the medbay," Traynor says between kisses.

"I will."

"Promise me."

Shepard kisses along her neck, "yes."

"Say it."

"Promise."

Their lips meet again. They separate only when the elevator doors do on the third floor. Shepard forgets why she came to the floor to begin with. "Dr. Chakwas," Traynor reminds her.

Shepard nods. She only allows Traynor a few steps before moving behind her, taking hold of her arms, lips to her ears. "Are you busy tonight?"

"I may have a hot date lined up," she murmurs, turning best as she can to look at her. "Did you have something in mind? If you have a good enough offer I may be persuaded to cancel."

They still haven't spotted anyone. Shepard pulls Traynor to the lounge. The doors slide closed and their mouths are on each other's again. Headiness races through Shepard. Warmth. Dizzying, unrecognizable happiness. It's been so long since she's experienced it that it feels foreign. Traynor's kisses are sweet and indecent. Shepard slides her hands beneath Traynor's shirt, touching the feverish skin below, craving contact. Traynor's breath hitches, teeth sinking gently into Shepard's lower lip, loosing a gasp from her.

"Are you trying to make an indecent woman out of me?" Traynor asks breathlessly.

"On every room of the ship, if I can help it."

"Not in Diana's room. She has cameras. I don't want our business broadcast to the galaxy at large."

" _Especially_ in Diana's room," she teases with another kiss, lips brushing against her ear. She stalls when Traynor pulls away, looking at her hand with fearful bewilderment. Her fingertips are red. Shepard blinks and lifts a hand to her hair. Blood comes away. How does she keep missing these things? Everything stings after battle, little things don't catch up to her. Do you hear that humming? She nearly asks. "It's just a little blood."

"I don't start blood play until after the third date," Traynor says with a small laugh.

Shepard sees the tension on her face. "Hey." Traynor quickly turns her back to her. Is she trying to be strong for her? "Hey," she says softly, taking her shoulders, pressing to her back. She wraps her arms around Traynor's waist, resting her chin on her shoulder. "I'm going to be fine. It's just a little scratch."

"I worry like a maniac every time you go out. But I have to stand in CIC grinning like an idiot until you return."

"You don't grin like an idiot."

"You can't joke your way out of this, Commander." Her voice shakes, arms snaking around herself. "I'm so scared all the time. I'm more scared for you than I am for me. If something happens to you… Everything will be lost. That's what I tell myself should matter. But...it isn't. I just think of you somewhere…hurt or. …I have nightmares about it. I feel like a scared, little girl."

Shepard gently tightens her hold around Traynor's waist. "It's going to be all right." It has to be all right. "Didn't you hear? I'm the savior of the galaxy. I'm so great I'm not even human." Shepard studies Traynor's face, relieved to see a faint smile touch on her lips. "I'm unstoppable."

"Don't think I won't hold you to it." Traynor's voice is a wisp of emotion.

Shepard nuzzles her face in Traynor's neck. She closes her eyes and hears the growl of the bastard Reapers; the trumpet that rings their destruction. A single-minded purpose takes her: she will not lose to the Reapers. She will not lose Samantha Traynor or any other of her people to Cerberus. Not on her watch. She vows to make the promise to Traynor. She wants to give her peace and peace of mind. She parts her lips with reassurances but can't speak. She is incapable of saying the words. She's petrified of being made into a liar.


	3. Doubt

A/N: Holy. This chapter is longer than the others. I'm not sure if that's a good thing. Thanks for all story alerts and reviews, everyone! They are delicious! More Liara/ everyone in this chapter. Also, skirting on the older end of teen here. For those who wanted less fluff and more cat fighting- well, there's no cat fighting but there's less fluff.

* * *

Cortez breaks her heart. Traynor was there the day he received the news about his husband. She found him next to the UT-47A Kodiak, wrench in hand, tears running down his face. She'd come to tell him about another Reaper attack. She'd never felt so helpless in her life.

They're closer now and he's one of the few onboard that she catches up with from time to time to play card games with, along with Donnelly, Daniels and Vega. They play now, gathered around the table at the lounge. Everyone has a drink in front of them and stacks of chips. James smokes a cigar. Donnelly is on his fourth drink, his face flushed red, leaning over to whisper in Daniels' ears. "I know you're trying to look at my cards, Kenneth," Daniels tells Donnelly irately.

"If you weren't beating me so badly I wouldn't have to."

It's easy for Cortez to be forgotten with the overpowering personalities but Traynor watches him. He's been lonely and miserable. She'd only been one of those but hadn't known it until Shepard came along. Maybe it took finding someone, however tentatively, or the end of the world to realize that Cortez could use some company as well.

The noise of the game, the chatter of the conversation, leads to Traynor speaking louder than she should. Or maybe it's the alcohol. Unfortunately, everyone quiets at exactly the moment she speaks. "There's always Lieutenant Vega."

Daniels arches her eyebrows. Donnelly goes red-faced and starts laughing. Traynor shoots him a look. Cortez looks at her, diplomatically aghast. "That idiot?"

James throws a card down in defiance. "Hey, screw you, Esteban! You'd be lucky to have a piece of this." He takes a drink from his glass and tops off the others' drinks. "What about you, Traynor?" he purses his lips at her. "I'm easy on the eyes, right?" James grins, winking at her.

"You're not _seriously_ , propositioning me, are you?" Traynor asks him, cocking an eyebrow. They know. Right? Don't they know?

Donnelly doesn't know. "Hey," he says, "Lieutenant Vega is all right with me. What more can you look for in a man? He's a good soldier and he's got arms as big as watermelons," he slurs. Daniels, obviously annoyed, leans over to whisper in his ear. He looks at Daniels, asks her to repeat herself before his face goes beet red. "Oh. Sorry, Traynor. I didn't know you liked your watermelons elsewhere."

"You're charming," Daniels says bitingly.

Traynor's face is scalding. "We're not here to talk about me," she tells them. This had been about Cortez. "If I could get us back on track—" she starts.

Cortez shakes his head, sensing an opening and latching on to it, desperate to not be the focus of attention. He sets his cards aside—Traynor panics. He senses the game is done for the evening. "So…" he lowers his voice, causing all others to lean forward in anticipation, "The rumors about you and Commander Shepard—any truth to them?"

There are rumors? Started by whom? How did Liara know about her and Shepard to begin with? She'd never told anyone. Is any space on the ship safe? James looks at her cautiously and Donnelly stares with a newfound respect. She's quiet for too long, staring at her cards for a card game that the others have already forgotten. "Gossiping onboard the Normandy? Whatever would the Commander think?"

"She's easy on the eyes, too." Donnelly says approvingly. "Good job, Traynor." Traynor scowls. "Come on, you can't fault me for having eyes."

"I don't know," Daniels smacks Donnelly's arm, "I think there's plenty we can fault Kenneth with."

Cortez ignores them. "We can't fault you for having eyes either, Traynor."

Traynor wants to smack him. To think that minutes ago she'd been feeling sorry for him. Andddd this is her just desserts for teasing him in front of others. "The Commander's business is her own. If you have any questions, ask her." But she really hopes that they won't. She wants this to go away. She doesn't know when she and Shepard became an item on the down low. She isn't sure if it happened because Shepard is her commanding officer or because of her relationship with Liara. Maybe Shepard's embarrassed. …Is Shepard embarrassed?

"That's vague," Cortez picks up his cards, "but you obviously don't want to talk about it—"

"No, no, no," Donnelly lurches forward, resting an elbow on the table. "We're talking about Commander Shepard here," he says. "And I want to talk about it. It's been dull on board! Commander Shepard," he repeats.

"Oh, is that what we're talking about?" Daniels asks.

Donnelly waves her away. "Commander Shepard and – and Liara—do you remember seeing her come onboard Gabby, two years ago? After Ilium?" He looks at her waiting. Daniels shifts uncomfortably. "Those two were… Oh, I thought about them a lot. At night."

"You sick bastard. What's wrong with you?" Daniels asks him. He folds his arms on the table and lays his head down. She looks at Traynor who laughs but can't face any of them. She stares at her cards and bites her tongue.

"Hang in there, man," James pats Donnelly's shoulder. The man groans. He looks at the rest of them. "Tell you the truth, I always thought Shepard and Liara were an item." James says. "Back when they met up again on Mars…" he clears his throat and coughs. "Let's just say Mars wasn't the only reason things were hot."

"It's hard to miss how they look at each other, especially on the shuttle," Cortez agrees. A moment later he cries out, a hand reaching desperately under the table to grab his leg. Daniels looks at him pointedly. He looks at her as if she were a maniac.

"Who'd have thought you guys would be the biggest gossips on board?" Daniel asks. "You'd think there wasn't a Reaper invasion underway."

Traynor looks at her gratefully. The conversation is finished and the card game comes to an end several hands later. Any winnings Traynor had, she loses. The conversation has left her sick and disoriented.

* * *

Traynor is in the crew's quarters when the door opens and EDI steps inside. Traynor is still unused to seeing the AI's physical body. And what a body it is…! Bad Traynor. EDI surveys the room and hones in on Traynor. Traynor, who's been reading an unauthorized Biography on the history of Cerberus, sets the book aside and slides off her bed. "I didn't think you ever left the Bridge. Joker must be a mess," she says lightly.

"Yes, he is. You're the only one remaining for me to deal with now." EDI shifts stances, clenching a fist, eyes narrowing on her. Traynor's jaw drops. She is flooded with terror. EDI cocks her head quizzically. "That was a joke. You're the third one that has proved it unsuccessful. Jeff thought it might inspire fear. I'm afraid that it has."

Traynor laughs nervously. "Was that a joke, too?" EDI's confused frown is answer enough. "You scared me for a moment there. You don't usually walk around the Normandy, do you?"

"It is unnecessary. Jeff has stated his preference for my physical self to be situated closely to him. However, I am, at all times, everywhere on the Normandy. You do not come to the bridge as often as some others. Do you find Jeff obnoxious?" Traynor laughs, ready to contradict the claim but EDI continues. "Shepard has suggested I move around the Normandy to get others used to seeing this form. I do not understand the purpose of her suggestion but the end result is desirable."

"Oh. I think Commander Shepard may have a point. Sometimes people become shy around strangers or those they don't know well." She remembers how she tripped over her words every time she saw Shepard in the past. She's better now though the butterflies have never quite left her stomach. "The more we see you, the more we like one another."

"I do not agree with that assertion. For example, Liara T'Soni seems to find your presence most disagreeable and more so by the day. Garrus and Wrex also have little favor for you. Hold." She lifts a hand. "Finished." She lowers it. "An analysis of Normandy recordings reveals that you have spent ten percent more time with both men than Liara has, at least on the SR-2."

Traynor crosses her arms, unsure of whether she should feel angry, insecure or amused. She's somewhat nauseas, then again, she did eat in the mess hall not too long ago. "Well… I suppose I'm not expecting to be as… well liked as Liara."

The intercom comes on. Joker coughs. "Sorry, couldn't help but overhear." Traynor doubts that. "EDI, uh, do you mind getting back to the bridge?"

"I am having a conversation with Samantha, Jeff."

"Yeah, what you call a conversation can come across like a sucker punch sometimes," Joker says. "Sorry, Samantha, she's not really used to social mores or what have you. Really, don't pay attention to any of what she's saying. Wrex and Garrus like you just fine."

"I do not understand, Jeff. Have you not said that Garrus and Wrex have a preference for Liara T'Soni? Shepard's involvement with Samantha is regarded as—"

Joker coughs again and again. "Oh, crap, I think I spilled some water over all these electronics. Seriously, EDI, get back up here and let Samantha do what she's gotta do."

"There is nothing that needs doing. However, I will return to the bridge to speak to you privately." EDI turns to Samantha. "It is my hope that my next joke proves more humorous."

Traynor smiles weakly. "It was fine, EDI. A little horrifying… all things considered but funny." Funnier, maybe, the day that AIs and synthetics don't have such a notorious reputation for wiping out organics. "I'll come to the bridge more often."

"I would like that." She goes to the door, lingers there and looks back at her. "I am slowly becoming accustomed to being a member of the Normandy. The next logical step would be to establish a friendship with someone outside of Jeff. I have not clearly defined the process for that yet but I would like to 'practice' with you if that is possible. I enjoyed our chats earlier when you were part of retro-fitting the Normandy and I, for one, am happy for your presence. I believe that Shepard is as well, though I cannot say so with a one hundred percent accuracy."

Traynor smiles. She smiles until the door closes behind EDI and she can smile no more.

* * *

Liara T'Soni terrifies Traynor. It is with great fear and reservation that Traynor makes her way to Liara's room when her presence is requested. Part of her excited—she is in the lair of the Shadow Broker! The countless monitors, the wires, the computers accumulating hordes of data—! It is a lab scientist's wet dream. Or… other sort for women.

A bit dark, though. She's jittery again. Liara stands in front of the computer. If she's noticed her presence, she hasn't let her know. Her delicate features are fixed in concentration. Glyph comes over and introduces himself but Traynor only feels nerves rankling her. She makes small chat with him, not sure if she's saying too much or too little. It's not quite the same as it is with EDI. Her face colors, thinking back to what a fool she'd made of herself in front of the AI when she'd first joined the Normandy. Hopefully she isn't about to make a fool of herself yet again. No doubt Liara thinks she already is. Traynor isn't sure that Liara would be wrong.

"Samantha." Liara says, not looking away from the computer. "Are you planning on standing at the door all day? Please, come in." It would all be so much easier if Liara were to act like a bitch to her. "I heard Glyph making some introductions. You're free to ignore him. Goddess knows I would if I could afford it."

"Oh." She must say something more than that. "He is rather polite. And fascinating. I'd love to take a look at his schematics sometime."

"I'm afraid that's classified." There's no hint of apology in her voice. "Anyway, I am glad you're here. Some of the data for the Crucible involves a great deal of quantum and physics theory. I've already spoken with Gabby but I discovered that you too are a valuable resource on the matter." She cocks her head for Traynor to go closer. Traynor does so apprehensively. Her body is tight with tension and she can only hope that Liara doesn't notice. "I know there are a great deal of scientists working on it now and I've already poured over their reports. I was hoping someone closer could shed some light on the matter."

Traynor looks into the screen in front of Liara, examining the data, scanning the reports, looking at the blueprint for the Crucible. The lines are elegant, just as she had heard, the design simple. Traynor tries to focus on that but can't—Liara's gaze is on her. Everything on the screen becomes suddenly meaningless. Traynor dares to glance at her. Liara looks away, steps away. Traynor wishes she'd told someone where she was going. "Do you think this will work?" Traynor asks stiltedly of the Crucible.

"Of course it will work. As long as it gets built. The sooner the better. All we need is the catalyst."

Liara has, with little effort, made Traynor feel stupid in a matter of seconds. "I heard about your work on Mars. If it wasn't for you we wouldn't even have this. We'd stand no chance against the Reapers. So…thanks."

"It seems the hobby I've always been ridiculed for has paid off again. You have no idea how I was teased in my youth for my interest in Prothean culture." She crosses her arms gently and leans into a wall. "I suppose you and I share that in common."

"Actually, I know very little about the Protheans, save for a few research papers I did in grad-school after Shepard—and you, I suppose, battled Sovereign."

Liara smiles faintly. "I meant that we both have unconventional passions. You're very interested in chess, aren't you? You've entered many tournaments and won." Traynor doesn't know if she imagines the sharpness in Liara's voice. She didn't know any mention of chess could push others into a fury—save for those she's vanquished in tournaments. "and strategy games."

"Are you calling me a nerd, Dr. T'soni?" Traynor asks. Liara smiles wryly. "I don't recall telling anyone onboard the Normandy my… aptitude for winning chess tournaments." Has she been spying on her? Oh, God. She's been spying on her. Traynor looks back to the monitor, unsure of what to say. What can she say? What else does Liara know about her?

"I have a way of coming to learn things."

"Does that way usually involve spying and reading classified information?" Traynor asks. She shouldn't have said it. Her chess tournaments aren't exactly classified. Now she sounds like a cocky shit. She has a teasing relationship with Shepard and some other members of the crew but Liara still cares the living hell out of her and intimidates her to no end. "You could have asked." That's what she meant to say.

"Do you ask, Samantha?" Liara asks, voice soft but anger evident.

Traynor's eyes drop to the floor. Skirt along the wires coiled tight as snakes. The room is warm and cold. She thinks to tell Liara about some heat dampeners that she might utilize for the equipment but her voice is gone. She is cold with shame. She turns her head and sees a schematic labeled 'personal project'. She examines the plans and its contents, touching her fingers to it. "This sounds impressive. I'd love to see it." She says quietly. "Might I?"

"It's personal," Liara points out. Oh. They stand in silence for close to a minute. "But I suppose the rest of the world will see it sooner or later. I got the idea for it while speaking to Vigil on Ilos. Do you know who Vigil is?" Liara asks but continues without waiting for a response. "There was also a Shepard VI that came out after Shepard…" she narrows her eyebrows thoughtfully. Traynor goes to stand beside her. "It sounds so silly but I bought a copy. It didn't work very well but it inspired me."

Liara pushes a button and the device comes on. "It is a tool for future generations. There are language packs and data… to help them if the Reapers come again. I'm hopeful about what we're doing now," she adds, "but one can never take enough precautions."

Traynor listens. She spots another button and pushes it. She doesn't know why she does but she does. A small virtual representation of Shepard pops up in the middle of the device.

"It was supposed to be…" Liara hesitates, embarrassed. "Commander Shepard has been instrumental in our fight against the Geth and the Collectors. I'm sure she'll remain the same during our war against the Reapers. Shepard should never be forgotten. She's the reason some of us have made it as far as we have and the reason many still have our lives. She's saved both of us. Me in Therum, you on Horizon." She kneels before the device to look at it more closely. "It's done. Just about, anyway. Everything that matters is ready. The Crucible diagram and everything we know about the Reapers. But… this part. I'm having difficulty finding what it is I want to say about her. When I think about it— I become…overwhelmed."

"This is a constellation," Traynor says unsteadily, fingers reaching out to touch it, knowing there will be nothing to hold on to if she were to try. She doesn't care for holograms, preferring the physical. But this… Liara winces. Traynor retracts her hand. "You've… what you've done here…" The words lodge in her throat.

"It's only a time capsule, Samantha. Anything else… is only an afterthought."

Traynor looks up at her. Liara meets her eyes for only a moment before looking away. Traynor stands. "Commander Shepard will love it." Her throat is dry. This personal project, this dedication, this labor of love. "I know how little it must mean… but about everything… I am—" so, so, sorry. She's so ashamed. She thinks of Shepard, smiling gently and her shame deepens. God help her, if only she could do the right thing and give her up.

"You're forgetting about why I asked you to visit." Liara moves past her and back to the monitor with the Crucible data still loaded. Her voice is weak, tired. "I have some ideas that I'd like to run by you. That is, if I could have a little more of your time."

"I'll do everything I can."

Liara is blessedly silent, excruciatingly silent for minutes as she pulls up windows and records. "Thank you," she says at last, a sad, resentful whisper.

* * *

Traynor is walking back from her promised visit to EDI on the bridge when she sees the elevator rise from the third floor to Shepard's cabin. Traynor grabs tight hold of her confidence. She won't let it plummet. She won't let suspicion rear its ugly head.

She has to trust Shepard. Even if the reason they're together is because Shepard had a moment of untrustworthiness. Keep it together, Traynor. Focus on your work. Yes. There's data to decrypt, channels to scrub, entanglements to…untangle.

Maybe there are some chess blogs on the extranet she can surf. Right. As if the extranet is working all that well these days. As if there's anything but the Reapers on anyone's mind.

Breathe.

She can't focus. Anyone on the third floor could be visiting Shepard. Anyone at all. Chakwas or… or Garrus. Maybe Ashley. It doesn't have to be Liara.

Traynor thinks of Liara's personal project. Has she shared it with Shepard yet? Who wouldn't fall in love with a woman who writes their name in the stars?

They come back from another Cerberus lab raid, smiling defiantly, triumphantly. Traynor remains at her station, watching them walk through the bridge, over CIC. Smiles and laughter are in rare form these days. Traynor is happy for anyone or anything that can make Shepard smile in that way. So much of what she sees of her these days is marked in sadness.

Garrus, Liara and Shepard talk over one another. A piece of Reaper technology has been found—Liara already has ideas on how to utilize it to aid their cause. Garrus laughs. "You can take the nerd out of the Normandy but you can't take the nerd out of Liara. I'm only happy that your biotics match your talk. I didn't think it was possible to twist the top off a Cerberus man with that much gear on the way that you did. You've gotten dark, Liara. I like that."

"I only did what I must," Liara says bashfully.

"Saving Shepard's ass again; she's lucky to have us watching her back."

"Some of us watch more closely than others," Liara smiles in a small wicked way. Shepard laughs while Garrus coughs, commenting that he has no idea who she refers to. They all brush past Traynor to the elevator.

Traynor finds her courage and steps away from her console. "Commander," she says but makes herself look at Garrus and Liara who remain in good spirits, though their smiles dim somewhat. The two of them have stepped into the elevator and only Shepard remains on the outside. "All of you," she continues, "good work. I'm—glad that you're back safely." She can breathe once they all get back in safely.

"Thanks, Traynor," Garrus says. "Now to wash all the blood off." He raises a finger, ready to say something but stops when Liara looks at him dangerously. "Don't worry, I'll behave." He shuffles where he stands. "Shepard, are you coming? I don't want to hold this forever."

"I'm right behind you," Shepard says looking back at them. She turns to Traynor. There's blood on her face but Traynor knows that none of it is hers. "How was it here in CIC?"

"Not quite as exciting as what the three of you were up to. No bombs thrown, unless you count the f-bombs I shouted when I saw another Cerberus squad move in. But your GUI representations were spectacular. When your three dots were surrounded by thirty red ones, I nearly had a conniption." By conniption she means heart attack but no need to tell her that. "Great job, Commander."

"Well, I had a little help." She touches a hand briefly to the small of Traynor's back. Traynor sees Liara avert her eyes and tenses. Shepard notices the tension and drops the hand. "Thanks for keeping an eye out for me."

"Anytime, Commander."

Shepard gives her another smile, one that makes her as weak-kneed as all the other one and retreats to the elevator with Garrus and Liara. They all fall into their easy, excitable conversation again. None of them pay attention to her. The doors slide shut and Traynor returns her attention to the computer monitor.

* * *

Shepard's strangled cry wakes Traynor in a panic. Shepard is hunched over, hands covering her face, breathing raggedly. Traynor tries to control the worry that settles in, making her chest tight and her heart pound too violently. The cold blue light of the aquarium washes over Shepard, making light dance along her skin. Traynor sits up, touching Shepard's back gently. "What's wrong?"

Shepard's back lifts and falls under Traynor's hand. "Just a nightmare." She says shakily.

A nightmare? Traynor can only imagine what it might be to rattle Shepard the way it has. It must go past the shadows that plague her dreams from Horizon. Shepard has died and defeated Sovereign and the Collectors. She's lost friends and allies, civilians. Traynor shivers thinking of what might haunt Shepard's dreams. "You okay?" Shepard nods but doesn't lower her hands. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," she says hoarsely. Traynor shifts and wraps her arms around Shepard's shoulders, pressing carefully to her back. Shepard grabs her arm gently. "Samantha…"

"Yes?"

"I…" Shepard ducks her chin. Traynor gives her time. Shepard shakes her head. "I haven't slept through an entire night since leaving Earth. I'm so…tired all the time. I'm no good in a fight like this. It's catching up to me. At this rate… I'm going to miss something. I'll be too slow or…"

Traynor's blood chills. She shakes her head. "Everyone's running on empty right now. Luckily for all of us you're better than anyone else on the field." Shepard is unconvinced. "You're going to be okay."

"I just want these nightmares to stop." She brings a hand to her eyes, her head bowing lower. "It's nothing I can make right." Her exhaustion comes through in her words. "Maybe they'll never stop."

"You're under a lot of stress. I can't imagine what you must be going through. It isn't fair," she squeezes her shoulders gently, "but the world wouldn't ask if it didn't think you could do it. I _know_ you can do it. I'll say it as many times as I have to until you believe it. But you have to believe it too, Shepard."

"Yeah…" she closes her eyes. "Sorry I keep waking you. You've been sleeping less since you began to stay over. No fancy shower's worth that, is it?"

Traynor smiles wryly. "Haven't figured out yet that the shower was merely an elaborate ruse to get to know you better? I never knew that Commander Shepard could be so adorably naïve. Next you'll tell me you were a virgin when I seduced you in the shower." But... given her particular skill Traynor would wager that's unlikely.

"Is that what happened?"

Traynor frowns gently. She doesn't know how to classify what it is that had happened. How it happened. They haven't had that discussion yet. Shepard has been stressed since the day they met. She's had smiles for her and the crew, she's been inquisitive but there has always been a strain. Traynor had brought the chessboard to Shepard's room, intending a fun evening, intending to help the commander relax. Everything that she'd wanted to happen had happened, even if it hadn't been in the way she planned. Shepard looked so goddamned lonely standing clothed in the shower, more vulnerable than anyone Traynor had ever known. Had Traynor been wrong? Had she seduced Shepard? She couldn't seduce a high school boy. Could she? "I don't know." She says quietly. "To be honest… I never thought… that someone like you would ever take notice of me. I'm good in a lab and everyone always talks about how smart I am. Not that anyone cares about your degree these days." She's rambling.

"What are you getting at?"

"Nothing." She bites her tongue. Shepard carefully unwraps Traynor's arms from her shoulders and draws her close. Shepard's body against her back reassures her, the arms circled around her waist can never be too tight. Traynor is daily assaulted by a harrowing guilt—a worry that she will lose the affections of Commander Shepard when the galaxy may be on the threads of its last days. How stupid can she be? How self-centered? If Shepard leaves her for Liara it would serve her right. "It's nothing," she repeats.

"I don't believe you."

"You're a mind reader now? The result of some new biotic implant?"

"Yeah. I told you we can requisition all the best licenses." Shepard holds her tighter. "I can tell when you're tense, Samantha. I'm not that oblivious." Traynor laughs nervously. "Talk to me."

"Very well…" she mutters. Shepard's face is in the crook of her neck, her warm breath spilling against her. Traynor closes her eyes, focusing on the slight shifts in movements whenever Shepard draws breath and exhales, the way she lifts and lowers her. "It isn't a big deal. Because if it really _were_ a popularity contest, EDI would have it in the bag. Oh. And you, of course." Liara would. Thinking about her or saying Liara's name makes her feel like a parasite.

"What are you talking about?" Shepard murmurs.

"It's just…"

"Spit it out."

"I've heard the others talk." Her face heats. She realizes with some mortification that her eyes are stinging. She will not cry about this like an idiot. Her imagination is getting away from her. Her imagination and the imagination of every other member of the crew as well, it would seem. "About you and…" Shepard lifts her face to look at her but Traynor faces in another direction. "I didn't know…your history. Everyone talks about you and Liara as if…" As if it's the only option, as if anyone else is a passing fancy, as if she were a homewrecker. "as if she were a beautiful asari, Prothean expert who helped you stop Saren, who has access to the kinds of files I can only dream of seeing, who is a biotics expert and can be at your side during a firefight. Compared to that…" she sighs softly. "Our GPA might be on par," she adds as an aside.

"Samantha…"

"She's still in love with you," Traynor breathes. "Everyone knows it. And if you don't know it you really are daft. As daft as I am for telling you if you don't know." She forces herself to be silent.

"You think I'm in love with her…?"

 _Aren't you?_ "Everyone loves her. _I_ half-love her. She's… everything. I'm a yeoman with a knack for quantum entanglements." The tears burn her eyes. "I saw what she made for you. The time capsule…? I've never seen anything so beautiful in my life. I would have fallen in love with her right there and then if I didn't already…" she wipes, she hopes, discreetly at her face. "Sorry. You were mentioning a nightmare before I became very self-absorbed and made this about myself."

"About _us._ "

"You prove my point exactly."

"What does it matter what other people think?"

"It matters. Of course it matters. Everything you've been doing for the past months, running around and having to play diplomat shows how much it matters what others think."

"But this? About this?"

"Will you sit here and tell me that the opinions of your closest friends don't matter a bit to you? That isn't who you are."

"I never said their opinions don't matter. But their opinions aren't everything. They don't know you the way I know you."

"Becauuuuuse I haven't slept with them? Do they know Liara the way you know her?" Traynor asks. Shepard's arms slip away from her. A sharp tremor jostles Traynor who scoots to the edge of the bed and stands. Shepard watches her. The good news is that Shepard no longer looks devastated as she previously did when she awoke from the nightmare. The bad news is that Shepard no longer looks devastated as she previously did when she awoke from the nightmare. Another break up may be deemed much more manageable than any intangible dream. Is there anything _to_ break? Traynor begins to plan how not to fall apart.

"It's different," Shepard says. "We have a history—all of us. You're the newcomer and right now… everyone wants familiarity. They like you. They just need to get used to you. Give Garrus some time to run a few more calibrations and Wrex time to settle in and they'll come around. And Javik… he doesn't like anyone."

Traynor nods absently. Tears brim her eyes but she refuses to cry. She focuses on Shepard's model ships. All of those ships, most of those ships have been seen first hand by Liara, Garrus, Ashley and Wrex, even EDI. How can she compare to those experiences? How can she ever hope to become a part of them? Is there a future for her and Shepard if the others don't accept her? If she's only considered Shepard's solitary mistake? Looking at the model ships is a mistake reminding Traynor that she is an outsider.

"Sooner or later you're going to have to trust me, Samantha."

"I do."

"Really? That's not what it sounds like to me."

"Is it really so surprising that I can think this won't last? And can you imagine, for even a moment how that terrifies me? It isn't only the Reapers, Shepard. It's this ship and your friends and you and—" her throat locks. She clears it, "Liara and me." Her voice has risen desperately. "I've seen her look at you. I saw you—after everything." Shepard had been a ghost. Unsmiling, reclusive, thinner, miserable. All of that because of one solitary act that had undone years.

"Liara will always be important to me. I can't change that."

" _I know._ I don't want you to, much as it would make things a hell of a lot easier." She sighs and takes a breath. "All I can think…" Traynor stops. She brings a hand to her lips, mulling over the words, frightened to say them.

"What?"

"I think we both know that if Liara had forgiven you… we wouldn't be having this conversation. That's a given. What I don't know…" Traynor doesn't think she needs to finish the sentence for Shepard to know what she's talking about. Shepard's intelligent with a reputation for good decision making. Traynor has been her margin of error. "Lately," the words catch in her throat, "I feel as if I don't know a lot. Which is… unbearably difficult for someone who's built a great deal of her conceit on her smarts."

"You're more than just your brains."

"Thank you. But that was the one part in all of this conversation that didn't need clarification." She laughs again and this time tears fall from her eyes, spilling down to her lips, to her hands. She's so embarrassed that she laughs again, as if the laughter will somehow distract Shepard from knowing that she's crying about their situation right in front of her. An absurd hope. Maybe all of this has been an absurd hope.

Traynor sniffles. Another sad smile graces her lips. Shepard stands and eases the tears from her cheeks. Traynor doesn't know what to make of her own crying while keeping the smile plastered on her face. Is she still trying to impress Shepard and let her know that everything is okay? That she's a big girl and can handle anything? If she can handle the Reaper threat, why not this? Shouldn't she have more control over something like this? What did she do wrong? What could she have done right? Not slept with a woman who was involved with someone else. But she hadn't known.

What if she had known…?

Shepard kisses the tears from Traynor's cheeks, from the corner of her mouth. Shepard's fingertips cradle her face. Her hold is feather light but Traynor can't pull away. She doesn't want to. Shepard has given her no answer but a kiss, tears on her tongue, warm, soft and bittersweet. Traynor's fingers snatch weak hold of Shepard's sleeveless shirt, bringing her closer. Icy fire races through Traynor. Maybe that's why she doesn't know whether she's burning or freezing. She isn't sure if she has a preference.

 _I love you, damn it. Do you love me?_ The thought batters her mind. Shepard veils her in kisses, hands lovingly pulling her clothing away, carrying her to bed the way Traynor has dreamed a wife might one day. It's bloody perfect—except for all the insecurity.

Shepard takes her like the tide. It's been so long since Traynor's been to the beach. She'd like to go again one day. Will there be any beaches left after the Reapers are through?

Shepard draws a shuddering breath out of her, followed by a soft sigh.

Traynor considers the beaches. Perhaps one day she and Shepard will go. She'd like to go with Shepard. They can hold hands as the sun sets. It will be generic but beautiful all the same. They'll race back to whatever little home they've rented, no matter how badly they'll want to make love on the beach. No. They should make love on the beach. Maybe get a house on the beach. Shepard will deserve that, at the very least.

Will they have any sunsets? Maybe in the docking bay at the Citadel. It isn't the same though, watching the cars fly by.

A gasp.

Her fingers are woven through Shepard's soft hair, perhaps clutching too tightly. She whispers Shepard's name but isn't sure if it's with pleasure or a question. Shepard rises, hovers above her, cups her face, kisses her. Traynor moves against her, enflamed by her caresses. Hadn't Shepard just been having a nightmare? Hadn't _she_ just been having a nightmare? How did they get here?

Her breath is short, the kiss broken. Shepard's eyes are luminescent, different than usual though Traynor can't identify why. Is she far away…? Whatever Traynor's going to say is reduced to another soft moan. "I need you closer," she breathes, fingers hooking haphazardly beneath the small garments Shepard wears, removing the shirt, removing everything between them until their heated flesh is pressed together and the icy feeling in her begins to thaw. Shepard clutches to her, pins her above, pins her beneath.

Traynor drowns in euphoria. Everything is a beautiful haze. This isn't the 'closer' she had in mind. Where's the answer she was looking for? If only she weren't so painfully addicted to answers. Traynor closes her eyes. Shepard curls up beside her, resting her head against Traynor's chest. Traynor strokes her hair. "You can't get out of questions by doing that every time." Enjoyable as it may be. She still struggles to collect her breath.

Shepard glides a hand along her hip. "I didn't know there was a question."

Traynor can't remember if there was one. "Do you need anything from me?" she asks quietly.

"No. Not right now."

"So all of that right now was…" Wonderful. But what else? Something to get her to stop crying or asking questions?

Shepard props herself up on her elbow and looks at her. Her hand continues to run over Traynor, her eyes far away. "I'm still a little distracted." Traynor frowns. Shepard must notice; she smiles guiltily. "Not that you aren't the best kind of distraction."

"I'd like to be more than a distraction, Commander." Traynor sees Shepard's eyebrows narrow at the title. "Do you even want me half as much as I want you?"

" _Of course._ I know we don't get a lot of time together. But I'm happy for what we do get." They kiss. "I've kept you up long enough. There's no reason one of us shouldn't sleep."

"I wouldn't be here if I minded keeping you company." Traynor turns on her side, draping an arm along her waist. A moment later she decisively pushes Shepard to her back. Shepard stays put, a faintly tired smile touching her lips. "Commander."

"Don't call me that. Not here."

"Is that an order?"

"Yeah. You got a problem with that?"

"No, ma'am."

Their lips meet again with bruising intensity. Shepard's body is molten lava beneath her touch. Traynor is unwavering in her efforts, only stalling to tease. She continues only when Shepard demands her attentions with the pulling, the hissing and moaning of her name.

When they're spent, they fall back heaving for breath before turning to face each other. Shepard's eyes are dark, exhausted. Traynor is determined not to fall asleep before her. They talk. About the foods they miss and their favorite spots on Earth, about the Alliance and London. Traynor talks to her about beaches and the smell of salty sea air. She talks about sunsets and dogs. Real dogs, not mechanical dogs. She likes retrievers and huskies. Shepard's eyes slip shut, flying open when she senses she's falling asleep in the middle of what Traynor says.

"Sorry," Shepard says wearily.

"Don't be. I'm the one going on when you're trying to rest." Traynor strokes Shepard's arm.

Life is a funny thing.

If the Reapers hadn't attacked she never would have met Shepard. The best thing in her life began on the worst day the galaxy has known in the last 50,000 years. The thought is cruel and distressing. She can't imagine a Normandy without Shepard, a life without Shepard. Not anymore.

Shepard's breath slows. Her eyes close again, fingertips curling around Traynor's. Traynor is convinced Shepard's finally found sleep when her eyes snap open. The terror on her face is real. What does she dream about…? Moments later, Shepard becomes situated again to the cabin, relaxing when she sees Traynor. "I'm here," Traynor says softly. "It's all right."

Shepard holds her hand tighter.

Would she sleep better with Liara at her side? Should she let Shepard go…?

Traynor wonders if anything good can be birthed in the darkness.


	4. Letting Go

A/N: Goddess! Thanks for the reviews, people! It's so, so encouraging! Ah, Traynor! I _could_ tag her in this earlier and now I can't. I'm going to try again. Thanks to the awesome T.A.M. for proofing this and the chapter title. He is the wind beneath my wings.

* * *

James' fist pulverizes into her. The blow immediately numbs her face. Shepard staggers backward as her nose erupts with blood. She shakes her head, sending drops of blood to the hard metal ground of the shuttle bay. She checks her flank and lifts her arms.

"Sure you want to do this now, Lola?" James asks. His massive arms don't intimidate her. Shepard's taken him out before, easy. He got a lucky hit. She was sloppy. He circles her. She sees him with her eyes but Thane with her mind. It happened so quickly. A fight one moment, a decisive finish the next with Kai Leng the victor. "You're not off to a good start."

"I'll get better." She swings, curled hard fingers connecting solidly with his side. He makes a small grunt but brushes it off. A wide swing leaves him open, she ducks under his massive arm and swings up, ramming into his jaw.

He blinks, shakes his head. Flexes his jaw, tests that it works. "That's more like it."

"Want to give up now or are you looking for a few more bruises?"

"This dance aint over yet. I'm still on top from where I'm standing," he rushes forward, a flurry of savage swings thrown. James has brute strength but lacks the elegance of Thane's precision. She steps aside as a large fist nearly slams into the side of her head.

Could she have been faster? The fight with Kai Leng had been hers. Thane had bought her time with his life and in the end the bastard had gotten away.

Thane's prayer for her settles over her like a mist.

 _Kalahira, this one's heart is pure but beset by wickedness and contention. Guide this one to where the traveler never tires, the lover never leaves, the hungry never starve. Guide this one, Kalahira, and she will be a companion to you as she was to me._

She is not worthy of the prayer. Damn it. _Damn it._ She's lost someone else on her watch. How many more will she lose? Not one more. She'd said that after the boy on Earth, after Mordin, after Thane. Goddamn it.

She's a fraction too late. Always too late. James rams a fist into her abdomen. She doubles over, breathless and lifts an arm, easily brushed aside. There's a crack when his other strike connects with her jaw, knocking her to her knees on the ground. Her face loses feeling. For some moments all she can hear are voices, as if she were underwater, humming.

She's still, the floor blurry, pain flares throughout her despite the numbness.

"Commander?" James voice is far away. His body, like an oily shadow colossus, towers over her.

Shepard tastes blood in her mouth, sees it on her hands. She is grateful for the emptiness of feeling, the stinging ache. All of it deserved.

* * *

"A little bird told me you were in here." Traynor walks into the lounge.

"That bird have a name?"

"Let's just say she has a lovely voice. I heard that Lieutenant Vega proved to be the better dancer. But from my understanding the superiority of anyone's dance skills in comparison to yours was never in question."

Shepard smiles faintly, splitting her lip in the process. She runs her tongue along the cut on her lower lip. Her jaw and nose are still swollen, purple and red. There's a fist sized bruise on her stomach. She isn't as tough outside of her armor. Shepard turns to face her. There's an instant where Traynor looks terrified but it's quickly hidden. Traynor's getting better about hiding her emotions. Shepard isn't sure whether that's a good thing or not. She remembers when Liara was easier to read. That was all long ago. "He was just pissed about how round one turned out." How long ago was that? Months ago? Near a year ago…? "I'll get him back."

"You might want to let some of the swelling go down before you give it a try. I prefer the women I keep company with to be shaped like women, not masses of bloody pulp. Unless this is the Alliance's idea of make-up." She goes closer, the back of her fingers grazing her cheek carefully. Her touch is cool against the heat of her skin. "You may have forgotten but there's this menace out there called the Reapers. You might have heard of them. I'd prefer you save your ass kicking for them, not cute lieutenants."

"You think he's cute?"

"Sure. But he'll be prettier than you soon enough if you keep this up." She takes a seat on one of the couches, delicately crossing one leg over another, settling her back against it. "So do you want to talk about it or do you want me to pretend getting yourself beat silly was really about giving Lieutenant Vega a confidence boost?"

"Maybe I just wanted some down time and a cute nurse."

Traynor takes Shepard's wrist and pulls her down beside her. "Not satisfied with Dr. Chakwas anymore? You're a bit of a scoundrel, aren't you?" she leans over and pecks her on the lips. "Tell you what. After all of this is over… you find me one of those old timey nursing uniforms and we'll see what I can do. You'll owe me, though."

"Saving the galaxy not enough to impress you?"

"No, I'm afraid I'll want something to really brag about. Maybe a dog. You have no idea how much time I spend on extranet sites looking at puppies. Strictly during off hours, of course." She shifts on the couch, slipping an arm along the back of it, turning to look at Shepard. She rests her face on her palm. Shepard is glad to be sitting. "Now are you planning on talking to me about what's going on or are you going to remain satisfied with playful banter?"

"What's wrong with my playful banter? Not enough to distract you?"

"I'm afraid your battered face is a little more distracting." She teases, though Shepard doesn't miss how her eyes shift away as she says it, a sad smile. She touches her arm, looking back at her. "You spend a lot of time in front of the Memorial Wall."

"Yeah." Shepard ducks her head before sighing. She leans back against the couch and closes her eyes. "Been thinking some about Kaidan. That along with Mordin and Thane… Nearly lost Ash on Mars. Still might the way things are going." She takes a breath. "I knew this would be hard. I knew people would die. But. I don't know how much more of it I can take." She opens her eyes and looks at her. Traynor gazes at her, expression somber. "I'm tired. Please don't tell anyone I said that."

"I won't."

"I can't fall apart in front of them. Sometimes… I feel like I'm in a fog. I need to wake up. A hard hit. Something."

"And by hard hit you mean getting yourself half beat to death in the shuttle bay?" Traynor asks.

"That's an exaggeration," Shepard mutters.

"There are plenty of things eager to do that. Don't seek it out on your off hours. How is that going to help anybody?" Shepard narrows her eyes, knowing she's right. "I might be able to arrange a spanking if you're looking for punishment. But before I do that you have to promise me that you'll take care of yourself."

"You saying I can't?"

"I know you can. But you haven't been doing a great job." She traces a finger over the cut on Shepard's lip, the purple of her cheek.

Shepard takes a shaky breath. "Everyone's expecting a lot from me. All the soldiers think I'm an exception, not the rule."

"They're sort of right."

"I can't have people thinking like that if we're going to win this. I'm just a soldier. I'm not meant to be doing any of this." She waves around. "I'm no diplomat."

"But you managed to unite the Turian and the Krogan after how many years? 1500? Something like that? Look, Shepard, I think amidst all of this you're forgetting what's really important." Traynor looks at her, dead serious. "It's been a long time coming and I've got to ask."

Shepard waits apprehensively. They'd have a rough night several days ago. Since then Traynor seemed to have dropped the questions and the insecurity. Shepard wonders if she only pretended to have put it away or if she's still full of doubt. "What is it?"

"When are you going to take me dancing?" She settles a hand on Shepard's hip, squeezing gently. "I've heard stories. And I'd love to show you up at something other than chess."

The shift in conversation is unexpected. Shepard laughs. "When'd you get so cocky?"

"Something else of yours that must have rubbed off on me." She gives her another quick kiss; it's gone too quickly. "I'd love to rub it back on you. Cocky looks good on you, Commander."

"I'm sure we can find a way to arrange that."

"The dancing or the other thing?"

"Both."

"Oh goody. You had me worried for a moment there."

"So… how serious were you about that spanking?"

"Oh ho, desperate for another beating? That depends on how bad of a girl you've been. I don't punish indiscriminately, after all." Traynor presses her hand against Shepard's chest when she leans in close. The small distance between them is a gulf. "Not on good days, anyway."

"What kind of a day is this?"

"Not bad. It's getting better," Traynor smiles. Shepard's eyes half close as Traynor's hand trails along her neck to delve into her hair. Shepard is dizzy with anticipation; the moments before their lips meet, the longest in her life.

* * *

The Citadel is a mess. Sovereign's attack years ago and now Cerberus' have returned it to a disaster zone. The recovery process will have to begin all over again. Shepard wonders if the Reapers will allow them the time. She tries to understand the reason for the Cerberus attack and the senseless loss of lives but comes up empty. What the hell is Cerberus up to? What about Udina? Was he really the power hungry cliché he appeared to be? Had he always been working with Cerberus?

Had he been indoctrinated…? Shepard turns her head, seeing a shadow from the corner of her eye. No one is there. Had there been a way to peacefully resolve the matter? No. She had to pull the trigger. Hadn't she? The questions fester. She can't afford to doubt her every move. There's no time to analyze every decision. If only she had the lifespan of the asari.

She winces inwardly, taking the thought back. Who knows what she'd see if she lived that long. Maybe the Reapers won't give her the chance to reach her next birthday.

She's sluggish. She makes her way to Apollo's Café and picks up a coffee, black, no sugar. Liara isn't sitting among the other café patrons. A lot of familiar faces aren't around anymore. Shepard doesn't want to think of the possibilities. They're either hiding away, scared, in which case half the battle has been lost or they've been killed. Maybe they're preparing for war. Better that.

It's still strange to not have Emily Wong around. Maybe she should have given her that interview earlier? The poor kid. Anger at the Reapers stirs, raging, before cooling and Shepard is left numb again. She wanders the Presidium Commons, intervening in petty arguments. Everyone is turning on each other. People are unused to living in under so much stress for prolonged periods of time. This can't continue.

She finds Liara in the arboretum, leaning against a railing, staring out. Shepard pauses to follow her line of sight. Endless skies. The sun is shining. It's a beautiful day. The Reapers haven't hit the Citadel—if it hadn't been for Cerberus everyone here might have continued an idyllic existence, oblivious to the woes of the rest of the galaxy. Shepard wonders if the Reapers are clever enough to want the Citadel kept in the dark. But why? For what purpose? She has a headache. It's hard to think. She takes a long drink of the coffee. Maybe she only needs caffeine.

She's mid-drink when Liara turns her head. Their eyes meet. Shepard is still. Liara shifts her eyes. "Hello, Shepard."

"Hey." She doesn't dare take another step. Liara doesn't move. Her hands remain draped along the railing, clasped in front of her. Eventually she moves to sit on the bench beneath the tree. Shepard counts to thirty, mustering the little courage she has left before taking a few tentative steps forward. "Mind if I join you?"

A long silence follows. "If you'd like."

Shepard sits next to her at the opposite end of the bench and maintains a proper distance. There's nothing in particular that she has to say to her. She would like for them to be friends. It's possible she's only being selfish. She doesn't deserve Liara's friendship. She thinks of the project that Liara created. Shepard takes another drink when her throat tightens. "Nice day."

"I suppose. We should enjoy them while we have them." Liara says. Shepard bites her tongue. "I'm here for business. Several of my contacts haven't checked in."

"Think something happened?"

"You were here when 'something happened'." Liara narrows her eyebrows.

"Yeah." Liara has snapped at her only twice before. Shepard watches the Presidium visitors walk. Some of them weep; others talk excitedly. Everything feels as if it were happening to somebody else and she's only watching. "I guess I was."

Liara looks at her and then away again. She has an arm draped along the back of the bench as if no one else were sitting beside her. "I am sorry about your friend, Thane."

"It all happened… so quickly." She runs a hand through her hair. Kai-Leng had impaled Thane as if it had been nothing. If Thane had been healthy, Kai-Leng would have never defeated him. Then he'd run, the coward. She will kill the bastard. She winces, her head throbbing from the headache.

"Kai-Leng is infamous. You're lucky to have made it out alive. Still, better Thane than you or Councilor Valern. If either of you had perished the repercussions for the war could have been astronomical. A bureaucratic nightmare. Not to mention how morale would have plummeted." Liara says thoughtfully. "I suppose if one of you had to be lost, it should have been Valern. He could be replaced by Dalatrass Linron and we could have maintained their small military. Salarians may have good intelligence but my network is better. Yes. Your loss would have been the bigger setback." She pauses, catching Shepard looking at her. "What?"

Shepard finishes her coffee and considers getting another one. "I can't tell if you remind me more of the old Liara now… or someone else. Remember how you used to talk about everything, like it was a science experiment?"

"Maybe that explained my interest in you." Liara returns. Shepard stands, not immediately realizing that she's crushed the cup in her hand. "I am glad you're alive, Shepard. For more than just tactical reasons. Does that make you feel better?"

"Not if it isn't true." She chucks the coffee cup into a nearby trashcan. "You're not here to make me feel better."

"No. I'm not." The words are neatly clipped.

Shepard knows that Liara is holding back. She wishes that Liara would say all the hurtful things she may want to say. It would be a relief. "I wish the Collectors had never attacked the Normandy that day. You were different before all of this. You were happier. You were—"

"Better?"

Shepard glares, hating how she keeps putting words in her mouth. "You didn't have to carry so much goddamn weight on your shoulders. This," she sweeps an arm around, "is all because of me, because of the mess you got yourself into trying to bring me back. You weren't jaded and cynical. Waiting for contacts, using Aethyta because she's sympathetic, using everything you can for the cause, spying on everything—"

She crosses her arms, scoffing. "You're lecturing me for employing the means necessary to stop the Reapers? You're too idealistic. You're lucky to have the Shadow Broker in your pocket. You're _grateful._ Shepard," she stands. "You're…upset about how things have played out. I understand that. But you're not the only one capable of carrying weight. This isn't about me. This is about your hurt feelings." Shepard begins to walk away, "But you know that you're the one who did this."

"I know," it takes everything to not shout the words, as it is, there's a growl that she can't manage to bite back entirely. "Damn it, Liara, can you act for one second as if you were more than just a goddamn commodity to me? I care about you. You've been more to me," her voice aches, "than you could ever know. I'm not perfect either. I screwed up. I hurt _everybody_. I don't expect you to give a damn about my feelings—I know I don't have that right. But don't pretend that you're nothing more than just a tool of military efficiency to me."

Liara frowns. She walks to the railing and folds her arms alongside of it. "I know I'm not." Shepard maintains her distance. Liara cocks her head for her to come closer. Shepard goes to stand beside her. "So much has happened. Sometimes it all does feel like too much. But I'd do it all over again, Shepard. When the Collectors took you… it wasn't your time. I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't let things be. Contrary to popular belief—I don't intend on flaying you or Samantha alive. EDI told me about the 'joke' she told you and Samantha." She smiles. "I laughed." Shepard doesn't. "It's funny. How much I still care about you, Shepard. Maybe I got complacent." Shepard shakes her head. "Time… doesn't quite mean the same thing to us, does it? Who was it that said human years are like dog years?" she smiles again.

"I thought that was about Salarians?"

"To asari it's the same thing. And now I've built this conversation up to nothing." She looks at Shepard. "We were both wrong. I got caught up in everything… and you." She bites her lip and bows her head. Shepard leans into the railing. "To be honest… since the beginning… I've always been so afraid. Of what you do. Of what we have to face. I sleep a little better now."

"I'm glad someone's sleeping."

"What's Samantha like? I know you maintained your distance in the beginning but after I gave you the silent treatment for long enough, you went back to her." Shepard sighs. There was never any 'going back to'. Their roles force them to spend time together. "For the record, I wasn't going to change my mind. I think that's fair. Is it?"

"Yeah," Shepard says palely.

"Mh." Liara looks at her. "So. Tell me about her." Shepard fidgets. She scratches her face. "She's not shallow." She smiles. "You're looking a little… rough around the edges." Shepard laughs. "There. I said it."

"Shouldn't you build me up before you tear me down?"

"I already did. Or have you forgotten?" Liara bumps her shoulder gently. Shepard smiles. "How long do you think you can avoid the subject? You owe me that, at least. Tell me about her. She's attractive. I understand the other humans aboard the Normandy are taken by her voice. She's well qualified. Plays too much chess, though. She could stand to get out more."

"This from the Prothean archeologist?"

"I get out more," Liara points out. "Usually, anyway. So?"

"She's…" Shepard thinks of Traynor. Her smile, her voice, the way she grounds herself firmly to a sitting on a couch, or the way her eyes sparkle mischievously when she's about to make a smart assed remark. A feeling, light and happy, difficult to put into words washes over her. Are there words? Is there a way to describe the soaring inexplicable ray of hope that consumes her? So many little things that amount to nothing, to everything. "She isn't what I expected."

"What did you expect?" Liara looks at her questioningly, curiosity brimming in her eyes. Shepard's eyes burn. She closes them and takes a shaky breath, covering her face, nearly bent over the railing. "I see."

"I'm sorry." The words are a hoarse whisper. Her fingers are wet with scalding tears. She's embarrassed. What the hell is this? For the first time throughout all of this, she's crying? And she's crying in the Presidium? Everything she's been reining in so tightly snaps away at last. Her voice is steady at first. "I never meant for any of this…"

Liara's hand lights delicately on Shepard's back. She leans in close. "It's okay, Shepard," she kisses her hair. "You can let go now. It's time to let go."

* * *

The shower is running when Shepard enters the cabin. Shepard pauses to unzip the hoodie she wears and throws it over the back of the desk chair before sitting. She browses through the mail terminal and reads the little news that she can. The Reapers are gaining more ground by the day. Many of her contacts have stopped responding. Colonies are going offline, systems being wiped out of existence.

Shepard covers her face with the palms of her hands and takes several deep breaths. _Shake it off, Shepard._ She straightens, focuses on the terminal and sends several distracted emails before giving up.

The falling water of the shower beckons her. It was a late night like this, months ago, that changed everything. They haven't spent any more time in the shower, both of them no doubt burdened with guilt about the incident. They haven't discussed it past the first initial conversation when Shepard came clean about it. Shepard rubs her forehead. A bottle of whisky rests at the corner of her desk.

Shepard screws the top off and pours a small amount into a lowball glass. She stands, paces, picks up the glass. She hasn't drank like she did when the Reapers first attacked. She can't afford mistakes. Traynor keeps her from the vice. After everything that happened, Shepard might have argued that Traynor _is_ a alcohol would have better served her.

Shepard thinks of Traynor's smiles: teasing, shy, brave, confident. Traynor is no vice. Each night that Traynor spends with her is a night of interrupted sleep for her. Yet she remains at Shepard's side with talks of remarkably normal, every day things; the things Shepard craves hearing about: the things worth fighting for.

Shepard sets the glass back down on the desk. Moments later Traynor turns to her, quizzical surprise on her features when Shepard steps into the shower. Traynor pushes the ebony strands of hair back from her face. She turns away from her, facing the wall. "Can't a girl get a little alone time?" she asks. Shepard can hear the smile on her voice. "I didn't invite you to join me. It's very rude to walk into a subordinate's shower. I'll have your stripes."

Shepard knows no reason why the water beneath her bare feet should feel any differently than it ever has. Has she engrained so completely what happened last time with Traynor? "Complaining? It's my shower."

"You forgot your clothes." She grins when Shepard takes hold of her waist and swivels her around. Shepard traces Traynor's sides before her fingers wrap around her wrists, pinning them beside her on the wall. "You know how I love a woman in uniform."

"Mh." She steps closer, her voice lower. Their bodies press together. Traynor audibly inhales. Shepard has come to love the sound of her sharp breaths. "How about out of uniform?"

"I'll have to think about it."

"You'll have to think about it?" she brushes her lips below her ear, along the curve of her jaw. "You're hard to please."

"You're just used to everyone kissing your ass. I can't believe you got your last yeoman to feed your fish." She rolls her eyes.

"Let's not talk about her."

"What should we talk about?"

"Us. In the shower."

"Oh, right. Well," she looks her over approvingly, "you've learned how to take your clothes off before stepping into a shower, like a big girl." Another teasing smile, "I suppose that deserves some kind of reward. I can make an exception, just this once."

"Just this once, huh?"

"Yeah," she says softly. "Don't get used to it."

Hot water showers over them as their lips meet in tender, heated kisses over and over again. Thick billows of steam surround them, making everything dreamlike. Only sensation exists. Shepard's tightly coiled emotions are stretched taut beyond their limits, overflowing with everything she thought dead and silenced. The world melts away. Guilt melts away. All that remains is Samantha Traynor, holding her close, closer than a secret, closer than voice and blood in her veins, closer than the air in her lungs, closer than her heart.


End file.
